


Why do all the hot ones have to be alive?

by ArmadilloFlashFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demisexual Castiel, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fuckup!Cas, Ghost Castiel, Horror, Humor, M/M, MCD but like...not what you think, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, WIP, at least my best effort at spooks, but he's from the nineties so he doesn't know that, megstiel will be a thing in this but it will be past tense, there may be spooks in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmadilloFlashFire/pseuds/ArmadilloFlashFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Castiel regretted death, just not in the way one would think. He didn’t have a sudden epiphany like those people who survived jumping off the golden gate. An angel didn’t come down and show him he was loved. He was all in until the very end, no second thoughts. Castiel regretted death because he was deceived. It was only when he passed over to the other side that he realized his mistake."</p>
<p>Dean moves into a house that happens to have dead Cas in it. But Dean doesn't believe in that kind of thing, no matter how hard Cas tries to get him to leave. Then Cas accidentally tries too hard and what a pickle they find themselves in. Huge pickle. A pickle inside a pickle inside a ghost inside an even bigger pickle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one bedroom, two bath, and one salty ghost with personal space issues

**Author's Note:**

> Attention!! Update Feb 2017:
> 
> I regret to inform you of where I've been and why this hasn't gotten updated. I sorta kinda am not in the spn fandom anymore. At least not actively. I stopped watching and read ff only every once in a blue moon. I really miss the interaction and community tho, and really wish there was a place I could post original works where I would get feedback like I do here, but alas, there is not a place. 
> 
> I wish I could keep working on this. If anyone wants to help me with it that would be great! I really do have a passion for writing and would love to continue this story even when I don't feel as passionate about the fandom as I used to. 
> 
> College is also a new development as well as a breakup so that's where I am. 
> 
> Let me know if any of you would be interested in reading original fiction by me should I post it here. 
> 
> Are any of you even attached to this fic? Let me know. 
> 
> Sincerest apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we haven't actually done anything other than this (oops) but this is basically just a test to see if this is something you all would want to read. So if you would like us to finish this leave some comments and kudos please!
> 
> First chapter by [ArmadilloFlashFire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmadilloFlashFire)

Castiel regretted suicide, just not in the way one would think. He didn’t have a sudden epiphany like those people who survived jumping off the golden gate. An angel didn’t come down and show him he was loved. He was all in until the very end— no second thoughts. Castiel regretted killing himself because he was deceived. It was only when he passed over to the other side that he realized his mistake. 

Everyone who believes in something believes in one of two things: after death there is a heaven, or nothing at all. Castiel favored the second, as any eternity, paradise or not, seemed like hell to him. Not to mention that, according to some people, his previous “lifestyle” choices weren’t getting him into heaven anytime soon. 

But Castiel needn’t worry about that anymore, because as soon as he woke up on his dusty attic floor under his limp hanging corpse, he knew suicide was a mistake. Both of his preconceived notions were wrong. He had wanted to stop existing and this...was the exact opposite. What on earth did he do wrong this time? 

# Why Do The Hot Ones Have To Be Alive?

### Chapter 1: one bedroom, two bath, and one salty ghost with personal space issues

Dean didn’t like to use words like “cute”, but that was the only way he could think to describe the place. The little blue cottage in the woods, surrounded by wildflowers and shrubs, exuded a unique charm known only to introverts, lovers of nature, and little old ladies. The house was obviously in disrepair— peeling paint and mossy steps. It wasn’t as bad as Dean had expected after hearing the house was vacant for nearly fifteen years. On the outside it looked practically livable. Apparently, a neighbor came over once a month to keep the place from falling apart. The woman, Missouri Moseley, said she did it out of respect for the dead. 

That there was the catch. A little over twenty years prior a man had committed suicide there. The locals swore it was haunted after the following owner reported seeing strange apparitions. Superstition kept the place empty for the next fifteen years. Local government couldn’t even sell the land for commercial reasons as businesses were deterred by the locals. The townspeople would never take any business or employment there as the land “would be cursed”.

Dean knew it was just stories. There were hundreds of deaths all around town and no one made a fuss about them. The only reason anyone cared about this house was because of some old man’s hallucinations. However, because it caused the price to drop snuggly into his budget, he wasn’t in a place to judge. 

The realtor looked so excited to see him Dean was tempted to pinch her to see if she was dreaming. She rattled on about rooms and windows and entertaining spaces. She practically yanked him over to the fireplace to continue her practiced spiel even though Dean had already decided. He was indulging her; she obviously thought she was never going to get the chance to try it out in real life. She was charming, in a kind of pitiful way; she was stressed as hell but had enthusiasm and everything about her seemed genuine. Now, Dean wasn’t an expert on people, especially not women, but this realtor— Hector, she said so on the phone— seemed like a good gal. So he let her perform. 

“This fireplace is very classical in design and function. Its wood-burning, with real exposed brick and a limestone mantel,” she embellished, like he didn’t have eyes, “Vintage is the new modern now-a-days, you know?” 

He didn’t know, but he acted like he did for her sake. She babbled up the stairs with Dean in tow, pointing out how beautiful the original wood was. He was planning on refinishing the whole staircase so he was at least partly interested. 

Truth was he had seen enough of the place online. He wouldn’t have made the trip if there was any chance he would have had to drive back. He was surprised when the supposedly haunted house turned out to be anything but spooky. He had wondered if the pictures weren’t portraying the true ambiance, but in person the house seemed even cheerier. Maybe cheery wasn’t the word. It was friendly. It _felt_ friendly. 

“So this is the second story. Here we have the bedroom and the master bathroom,” She continued, showing Dean the merits in every inch of them both. Apparently standing bathtubs were very in vogue. 

“Alright! Now if you would follow me I can show you the basement and then we can hopefully make a decision today!” she said as she started back down the stairs. 

“Wait—” Dean said, stopping her halfway down the first step, “Isn’t there an attic?” 

Hector looked startled, and then nervous before schooling herself into her staple bubbly expression, except some of the previous excitement had left her features, replaced by a false grin, “Um, yes but,” Dean almost felt bad for bringing it up, “Oh, there’s nothing noteworthy up there. It’s just a regular old attic. Lots of space for storage.” 

Obviously, the attic wasn’t part of her practiced spiel. Dean knew why, but he really needed to see it. It was the only part of the house not shown in the photos and he had to make sure everything was up to code. 

He said about as much, stressing how it was crucial in his decision to be shown how the roof was insulated. Not quite true. He was confident that he could fix any critical construction issues he was faced with, but knowing what he was working with before sealing the deal would be nice. 

And he had to admit, he was a little curious. 

“Okay,” she sighed, her face fading, “It’s this way,” she pushed past him, down the hallway to the storage closet next to the bathroom. She opened the small door and reached around to flip a switch connected to a single incandescent bulb. The closet lit up, showing nothing but an empty mop bucket in the corner, “There’s a folding staircase here,” she pointed to the ceiling. A string was hanging down from a door cut out of the surrounding wood. 

She did a little hop-jump up to grab it and then tugged using her whole weight, “It catches sometimes, so you gotta really yank it,” The hatch released reluctantly, an old wooden staircase unfurling with a groan. It took up the whole closet and Dean wondered if he’d need to empty it out whenever he wanted to go up there. 

Hector turned back to Dean, her expression resigned. “Let’s just get this over with,” She said and Dean almost felt guilty again. 

She motioned him up the staircase and Dean entered the closet and mounted the steps. They squeaked in protest and Dean had to guess that they weren’t exactly safe. At least for a 180 pound man who wasn’t known to be gentle. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dean twisted around to look at her. There was real fear there, and not the kind one would get from losing a sale, “If you really want to go up there, then I’m not gonna stop you. I’ll lose this sale if I don’t let you. But when you do climb those stairs you’ll run screaming, just like everyone else. Darned if I do, darned if don’t. I was so close this time too... ” She backed out of the closet, shaking her head, “I want you to know that I only went up there once before and no one will _ever_ see me do it again.” She broke eye contact, directing her attention over Dean’s shoulder, into the dimly lit space above, “I don’t believe in ghosts. I still don’t. But there’s something in that attic, Mr. Winchester... Something bad.” 

No wonder no one bought this freaking house. Creepy-ass real estate agents. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean continued up the ladder, looking forward again. He could hear her step out of view and Dean was irrationally relieved that she left the door open. 

As his head peaked above the floorboards he could see the entire attic was lit by only a small round window on the far side. It faced north-east— away from the sun—so the light that seeped in was gray and dim. He had to blink a few times for his eyes to adjust and was thankful for the extra light coming from the closet below. He was able to make out boxes and some furniture hidden away. 

He pulled himself from the opening, careful of splinters from the old flooring. As he stood up to his full height he was immediately struck by how much colder the attic was from the rest of the house. His arms broke out in goosebumps under his henley and he ran his hands up and down the cloth to tempt back warmth. 

Maybe there was a draft or something up here. In that case, good thing he made the trip. 

Stepping across the floor, the boards gave way slightly underfoot. He crept closer to the middle of the room, bending down to study the dusty boxes and trunks. There was a red loveseat against the left wall, almost eaten away by moths. Pressed against it was a cheap dresser with multiple layers of peeling paint in various colors. A few old lamps and mirrors were scattered around too, but almost everything else was packed away.

Most of the boxes were taped shut and unmarked but a few in the far right corner were open and labeled with sharpie. 

Dean made his way over to the boxes, which was much easier said than done. It was dark and there were more than a couple times where he almost tripped over a precariously placed knicknack. The goosebumps never subsided, if anything they got worse, traveling all over his body. It was strange, because the temperature seemed to stay the same, even though the tingling across his skin became increasingly unpleasant. 

He was shivering by the time he was crouching in front of a pile of unsealed cardboard boxes. Through the dust he could almost make out the writing on a couple of them. 

He reached out a hand to wipe away the film from the nearest and the tingling on his skin became almost painfully intense. Somehow, he was able to convince himself that this wasn’t something he should worry about, and brushed away the dust to reveal a name. He formed it on his lips, barely a whisper.

“Meg?” 

He sucked in a breath as everything went impossibly cold. He was paralyzed, though he couldn’t tell if by fear or something else. A wave of tingles washed over his back, his instincts warning him of something close. The floor creaked behind him and what felt like breath ghosted over the nape of his neck, but it was cold when it hit his skin.

He turned suddenly, jumping to his feet. Nothing was there— he was alone. There was no trace of the chill that had infected him earlier. The room was the same temperature as the house below it. Dean still had goosebumps, but they weren’t from the cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (update):   
> sorry about the hold up. I know a couple people have said how much they want this story done and I am fully on board with getting my write on, the second chptr is already half-way done. But it's the end of the school year, and school is hard, so that's what I've been doing. Also writers block. I updated the first chapter tho so its more official.


	2. Even ghosts hate Dr. Sexy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got it done. I wanted this chapter to be longer than the last chapter but it kinda ended on it's own so I let it. The fact that I haven't been writing as much _IS NOT_ because i have a new girlfriend and im thinking about her all the time instead of fanfiction. It is not. (it is.)
> 
> Chapter by [ArmadilloFlashFire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmadilloFlashFire)

### Chapter Two: Even Ghosts Hate Dr. Sexy

Yes, the attic was creepy. Yes, in the moment it seemed like something “supernatural” was happening. But after stepping down from the attic’s dustiness, he was still in the middle of the same house he had fallen for. His stubbornness beat out any blossoming superstition, and he moved on. 

Hester was...surprised, to say the least. But once she got over the shock she was elated. She even forgot to show him the basement before papers were signed and hugs were given, even an awkward impromptu kiss (she apologized afterward for getting carried away), then she made a hasty retreat, practically tripping over herself on the way out. 

Being alone in the house was different than before. It was quiet enough to hear the sway of the trees outside. Dean busied himself by bringing in his few belongings from the trunk and let himself take in the afternoon. His duffle bag bumped against his leg as he sauntered up the porch steps. He didn’t bring much. The house was already furnished so there was no need. Plus, this was supposed to be a new beginning for him. Carrying around bits of his old life would be counterintuitive. 

The screen door slammed shut behind him. Flinging his bag to the ground, he sent out a quick text to his brother to tell him the news (not like he was going to text back) before calling up the nearest pizza place. 

The next few days were spent in a peaceful blur of finalizing paperwork and settling in. He didn’t go back into the attic. He knew it was stupid, it was all in his head, but every time he passed that closet door he could feel that phantom chill down his spine. He was going to have to go up there at some point to clear out all that old stuff, but he was going to delay it as long as possible. 

After a long day of housekeeping, he laid himself out on the sofa in front of the little flat screen he bought second hand off craigslist. There were a couple dead pixels but he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of his Dr. Sexy marathon. 

He draped a throw over his legs, switched on the TV and prepared to dig into his basil fried rice when the channel changed to some dog training show. He checked to make sure he wasn’t accidentally hitting the remote, switched it back, and placed the control on the floor. He settled back into his blankets and the old suede cushions cradled him. 

He raised a chunk of basil-ey chicken to his lips, mesmerised as he watched nurse Rosilene slap the mysterious Julia, accusing her of sleeping with her long-time boyfriend, Matthew, unbeknownst to her was that Julia was actually her boyfriend’s long lost sister, who was the only one who could donate him the liver that would save his life. 

It was almost to the part when Rosilene shares her turmoilious past with her ex-boyfriend Roger, when the channel changed again. This time to a polka dancing competition. 

Dean scrambled for the remote, but for some reason it wasn’t next to the couch like he remembered, but over on the coffee table. He set his rice on the ground and got up slowly. He distinctly remembered putting it on the ground. It was only a few minutes ago, how do you forget something like that? 

He grabbed the remote again, hesitantly, and changed the channel back. As he settled back in he made sure to very deliberately put the remote on the ground next to him. __I put it on the ground, I put it on the ground,__ he repeated to himself. He wasn’t that old, he shouldn’t be losing his memory yet, right? 

Ten minutes later, he was enthralled again, watching Dr. Piccolo cry her heart out, shedding a few tears himself, when the channel changed to some kid’s show about a raccoon and a bird. Dean startled and looked to the ground where the remote should be but it’s gone. He looked up and started again when he saw it was on the TV stand, right next to the TV, where he was just looking a moment earlier. It was __not__ there before. 

He jumped to his feet, marched over and snatched the offending piece of plastic. After changing the channel he popped open the back, pulled out the batteries and deposited them on the kitchen counter in the other room. He stared at them for a moment, feeling stupid but compelled to do so anyway, and returned to the couch, keeping the remote clutched in his hands this time. 

He stared at the TV, daring it to change again. A minute passed, then another, and another, after an hour (two episodes) he let out a sigh of relief. The remote must have just been malfunctioning or something. 

Then the screen suddenly went black. 

“The fuck?” He said, and made his way over. The little light on the side wasn’t even on; usually glowing red to show the TV was off or green for on. He checked the back of the TV stand where all the wires were dangling in an unorganized web. The whole power strip was unplugged from the wall. “The __fuck??__ ” 

He whipped around when he heard a sound that he swore was someone laughing. A quick throaty chuckle that was gone as fast and as suddenly as it appeared.

Dean wasn’t scared. He would have to believe there was a ghost or something to be scared. But that odd feeling the attic left him was back; a certain uneasiness. So after the whole Dr. Sexy incident, he decided to stay the night at a motel in the area. He really shouldn’t have been spending any more money than he needed to, the house was cheap but he was still unemployed. But he couldn’t even think about staying the night there while his legs still felt like playdough. 

It also gave him an excuse to explore the town more. It was smaller than Lawrence. Big enough for there to be a McDonald's, but they still remembered your name when you ordered. 

He rolled the Impala down empty residential streets. The moon was out, but it was blocked by the trees and he was having trouble seeing a thing. He had only really been back and forth from the hardware store and the strip of restaurants on main street. He had no idea where he was going but the drive did help him to clear his head a little. 

It must have been an issue with his TV. It couldn’t have been anything else. The guy he picked it up from hadn’t mentioned anything like what had happened last night but he wouldn’t put it past a stranger to lie to him about something like that. 

Of course, he was still worried about the whole “magic moving remote” thing but weirder had happened to Dean before. It was probably the stress of moving house getting to his head. He popped in a tape to calm himself. 

__Wish You Were Here__ by Pink Floyd wormed its way around the car and he felt himself ease. Maybe he was overreacting. He was running away from his own house because he got __spooked.__ He was a toddler who didn’t want to sleep in his own bed because he had a nightmare. 

Turning the car around in the dead of night was hard but it was practically muscle memory at that point. He took a couple wrong turns on the way back, but eventually found his way back to the right neighborhood. 

As he pulled into the driveway he jumped when he saw a figure walking down the path from the front door. Whoever it was stopped when they saw him and seemed to patiently wait for him to get out of the car. 

He slammed the door and stalked up to the figure, shouting, “Hey!” 

“Well aren’t you back soon,” she said and as Dean got closer he recognized the round face of his next door neighbor. “Didn’t think you’d be back at all.” 

“The hell are you doing at my house?” Missouri ignored him, she adjusted her bag so it hung over her shoulder. 

“I knew you were stubborn, but even for you,” she tsked, “Goin’ against your instinct like this,” she looked him real hard in the eyes, it made him uncomfortable. She held her stare for a few long seconds and turned away, looking back at the house, “He’s gonna make such a fuss, the poor soul.” 

“Who?” Dean asked, angry, “Nevermind, the fuck are you doing here? It’s passed twelve in the morning!!” 

Missouri looked unaffected when she turned back to Dean. She gave him a knowing smile and started towards her home, “Visiting. You’ll figure it all out soon enough.” 

He had to resist the urge to run after her. He wondered if he should call the police or not. The woman had seemed odd when he first met her, but not breaking and entering odd. She had been sitting on her front porch nursing a cup of coffee. He only came over to see if he could borrow a pair of gloves to clean the gutters but he left with no gloves and a lot of confusion. She looked him in the eye and said “Give him time,” and when he asked her what she meant she looked at him like she couldn’t believe how dense he was. 

Maybe she wasn’t all there, but that didn’t mean he should let her stand around his house at night. Maybe he should get some sort of alarm system, or at least a fence. 

He shook himself loose and climbed the front steps. He tried the knob and found the door locked, relieved that she hadn’t been inside. When he pushed the key into the slot and wiggled it open, stepping into the foyer, it was only about five seconds before an angry chill climbed up his spine. Dean was determined to ignore any “spooks” now that he’d decided to be rational, however, he couldn’t help but squeal when his brand new living room lamp suddenly crashed to the ground at his feet. 

What the hell was wrong with this guy? 

Missouri claimed he had a “stubborn spirit” but to Castiel, he just seemed stupid. He didn’t believe in ghosts either—ironically—when he was alive. But it was just common sense to move out of a house that made you think twice about falling asleep. He had given Dean the benefit of the doubt when he ran away that night. He assumed he wouldn’t be stupid, or “stubborn”, enough to come back. He did, though. It was as confusing as it was infuriating. 

Hardly anyone came back after he scared them out of the attic. He even went a little harder on Dean, on account of him touching things that _do not_ belong to him. He had tried to get him a couple other times. A cool breeze in the kitchen, creaking steps in the basement. He seemed to become unsettled but shook it off easily. The incident with the TV wasn’t even on purpose if he was being honest. He just couldn’t stand to listen to such garbage. He had it on so loud he could hear it even from the attic. Just typical that it was only when Castiel disturbed his shows that he paid any attention. 

The few who had made it as far as Dean had had left soon after Castiel made his presence known again. Realizing it wasn’t just a one-time deal, they fled. Nobody came back like Dean did. He was going to have to try something a bit more serious. Castiel was adamant that he never go too far scaring anyone away. It was a means to an end, he didn’t want to be cruel. But just like in the attic, he was getting much too agitated to keep to silly tricks. 

Dean didn’t think the house was haunted? Well then, Castiel would just have to show him what he was missing. 


End file.
